


tale as old as time

by faithzephyr



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beauty and the Beast AU, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slow Burn, bc im unoriginal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithzephyr/pseuds/faithzephyr
Summary: After the mysterious disappearances of Queen Mary and Prince Nathaniel, the kingdom of Baltimore is in a state of unease as their king searches for his family. Mary and Nathaniel had become Kathleen and Neil Josten, hidden away from Nathan and the rest of the world, until one night their past catches up with them. Now, Neil is left alone, with no way to escape his father besides a young witch and a risky spell. When her magic goes awry, Neil is cursed to live as a beast with no end to the spell in sight. Until one Andrew Minyard happens upon him.





	tale as old as time

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i've had this in my drafts for awhile now and i finally decided to post it after procrastinating for a couple months! honestly, if you've gotten this far it means you clicked on the story, so thank you!

Nathaniel was born a prince, luxuries and riches available to him at his beck and call. He was pampered, watched over every second, his father ensured it. He possessed everything a man could wish for, except for the one thing he truly desired. His freedom from his kingdom. His crown, his throne. His father. An escape was all he wanted.

And his mother provided one. She shook him awake in the night, shoved a bag into his arms, and told him his name was Abram. And so began the rest of his life. His mother had studied magic before her marriage.She had only dabbled, but she had always been a fast learner. She had quickly mastered the basics, and then some. Abram’s father had forbidden her from exercising her sorcery. His second-in-command, Lola, was the only one in the kingdom permitted to practice magic. But lack of practice did not make his mother weak. Rusty, perhaps, but not weak. She changed his hair from it’s fiery orange to a dark brown, far more common than the Wesninski red Abram had inherited from Nathan, his eyes became a brown to match his hair, rather than their piercing glacial blue. Taught him her trade and took him away. His name wasn’t Nathaniel anymore, and he was only Abram to his mother. Instead he was Chris. Or Stefan. Or Jeremy or Nicholas or Alex or Jason or Michael, or anyone his father couldn’t find. Abram and his mother disappeared without a trace.

Their absence threw the kingdom into chaos. Nathan demanded the return of his wife and son, ordered that nobody rest until they were found. It might have seemed a sweet gesture to an outsider, a man run ragged with worry for his only family. But the people of Nathan’s kingdom were no outsiders. Nathan’s temper was no secret, and the rumours that circulated his kingdom were rooted in truth. Whispers of distant wails and ear-shattering screams heard from the depths of the castle ran throughout the villages, fueled by disappearances of those causing trouble that went suspiciously unremarked upon. And so, it was a widely accepted fact that when the queen and her son were caught, there would be no joyous reunions, no tearful embraces, and above all, no mercy. They would be put to death, by an executioner if they were lucky, but Nathan was never one to show kindness.

And, really that was why Mary had stolen her son away in the cover of night. Because she would rather deprive him of the chance to grow up at all than the slightest possibility that he grow up to be as cruel, and unloving, and sadistic as her husband. Because the last thing the world needed, the last thing she needed, was another Nathan. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let her only son grow up to be a monster.

_ten years later_

A full moon shone upon a cozy little cottage, sitting upon the border of Baltimore. Beside it was a sprawling forest, dense and dark, and home to rabid beasts. The stone walls of the cottage were slick with rain from the day. A light drizzle remained, leaving the air heavy with moisture. The cottage was home to a former queen and her little prince, although it didn’t appear so. It was cheaply made, cobblestone walls did their job of keeping the majority of the snow and rain outside, but didn’t do much for the occasional draft that would sneak in. There was very little to say about the cottage other than it was reliable, and nondescript enough to keep the two safe. Her name wasn’t Mary anymore, and his wasn’t Nathaniel. She had become Kathleen and he Neil. They were the Jostens, a small and poor family, but a happy one nonetheless. Happy, that is, until one of Nathan’s men comes pounding on their small cottage door with a sword at his hip and a solemn look seemingly carved into his face. He told them that the King Nathan of Baltimore and it’s surrounding provinces had requested the presences of Kathleen and Neil Josten immediately.

It had taken Mary less than a second to react. She was Mary now. Kathleen had died the moment Nathan had found them. But a second was more than enough time for her. Abram stood beside her, carefully out of sight of the man, prepared the second he heard the knock. Face pale at the mention of his father, but still prepared. Their bags held in his hands, always packed, always ready to run.

And run they did. Out the back way, _they always had a back way, an escape route_ , and away they went. Abram was young when they first ran, too young to form a solid memory of his father. But the scars littered across his body were memories enough. He wouldn’t be able to pick his father out from a crowd, but he could name his blades anywhere.

His mother had always told him he had his father's face. The disgust in her voice was obvious whenever the subject was broached, but deeper, quieter, there was anger. Anger at Nathan for cursing Abram with his face, with the sins associated with it. Anger at Abram for daring to take that man’s face, to bring another _him_ into their world, despite the fact that he would give anything to rid himself of it. Anger at the world for cursing her with a child she can’t look in the eyes, because all she can see is Nathan, Nathan and his sharp words and sharper blades, the scars that no magic would remove, both mental and physical, the blood that stains her hands because of him, left too long to dry to ever be completely washed away. 

So no, Abram had never known his father, and if it were up to Mary she would make sure he would never have the chance. Unfortunately, fate had never been on Mary’s side, and that night when she ran with her son, Nathan’s men gave chase. No, worse than that. After all, Nathan was many things, vicious and brutal and callous as he was, he was never a dumb man.

So when Nathan emerged from the dark, knives in hand and sadistic smile on his face, Mary should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve read the signs, should’ve realized Nathan wouldn’t trust anyone but himself or Lola to collect the only people to ever make a fool of him. A second passed. Two. Three. Nathan’s already wide smile stretched even further.  
“Hello, Mary.” Her name was like poison on his tongue. Mary could feel a phantom dagger twist in her gut, and Nathan didn’t have to move a finger. She hated that he could hurt her like this, that just a word from him would hit her like a throwing knife. His eyes darted to Abram and his smile practically fell off of his face. “Nathaniel. It’s been so long.” He stepped forwards and Mary finally snapped into action. Shoved Abram behind her, pushed him away, and told him to run. He was fast, always had been, and he took off like a bolt of lightning towards the forest. Nathan grabbed her by the shoulder, forced a knife into her chest, and smirked. They had both spent enough years studying the art of murder to know this wasn’t something she could walk away from. All she could do now was stall, make sure her son would have the chance to get away.

Neil entertained the thought of turning back, standing his ground against his father and his men. Maybe he could take his mother and run, find a safe space where he could use his magic to heal her. But years of conditioning his fight or flight response to be focused entirely on flight was hard to undo, and a moment of hesitation in which he believed there might be some chance he could save his mother certainly wouldn’t do the trick, no matter how much he cared for her. And so, he pushed the thought away and pushed his legs to carry him further and further away from his parents, from everything he had ever known and everything he had ever feared. Deeper into the trees, dark and sprawling, until the sun peaked out from beyond the horizon, rising slow and steady as it always did. As if Neil hadn’t lost the closest thing he’d ever had to a home, as if his world wasn’t in shambles at his feet. Anger rose in his chest, clawing up to his throat like a rabid beast. How dare this world keep on turning when he was all alone, how dare it look so beautiful and peaceful, not pausing or slowing for his mother. And how dare Nathan, _because he refused to call him his father_ , take the only person he could trust, the only person who had ever shown Neil love, even if it was through harsh jabs and slaps that left his skin pink and stinging. How dare he take her and leave Neil with nothing to remember her by but a few scars added to his already massive collection and memories.

Light filtered through the trees as a shred of common sense came likewise through Neil’s anger. “I have to change,” his heart thrummed in his ears, loud as thunder. He had never had an affinity for magic, not the shapeshifting sort at least. That was always left to his mother. He had taken quite well to the different sorts of healing, and it was something he prided himself on. But now, he would trade every scrap of his healing power to cast a disguise upon himself. He could run, but without a new identity he’d be dead by sundown, regardless of his powers.

He pulled the hood of his cloak low over his eyes and set out in a random direction for the nearest town, hoping beyond hope he would make it.


End file.
